Color My World
by MissMelysse
Summary: Geordi LaForge/OFC. By definition all fanfic is AU anyway. Started for LJ Fanfic 100. Comprises the color prompts. I've decided to quit the original project, but continue the story. Friendship/Romance, with just a hint of intrigue. Nothing explicit.
1. Red

**Fandom:** Star Trek The Next Generation  
**Characters: **Geordi LaForge / OFC  
**Prompt:** #011 - Red  
**Word Count:** 789  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary: **A weekly chat involves a favor. Chapter one of the Color Series: **_Color my World_**. This chapter takes place sometime before** _Home_.  
Notes:** Written for the Livejournal FanFic 100. _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ and Geordi LaForge are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This was written for the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored. May continue to be Geordi/OFC (Kat) - may not. These is un-beta'd.

**RED**

"Kat, I need a favor." These are the words which begin my weekly com-chat with one Geordi LaForge, who's been my best friend since we were both ten years old.

"I'm not revealing my source on the Jotar dilithium smuggling story, even to you," I tell him, and mean it. "I mean, friendship goes a long way, but my career is important, even if I'm not gallivanting around the galaxy playing hero every other week." I'm half-teasing, half-serious, and just a little bitter that these weekly transmissions are the sum-total of our relationship, and have been for about ten years now.

"You know I'd never ask for a source," he assures. Then, because he really is one of the sweetest guys ever born, his tone softens. "Is it true you're in danger of being indicted?"

"You heard that, all the way out there?" I shouldn't be surprised. He keeps telling me that rumors travel faster than starships, but somehow it still rocks me that he knows.

"It's not common knowledge," he explains. "I just…heard it." The unspoken information is that he's been following my career, and if he weren't wearing a VISOR his expression would probably confirm it. As it is, it's enough to give me a moment's pause.

"So, you need a favor?" I ask, running my hands through my hair. I've hated my hair ever since I got too old to twist into braids every day, and I tend to play with it too often. I've been told it's one of my 'tells' – that I play with it more when I'm nervous – which is why I always stick it in a pony-tail before I play poker.

He hesitates, fiddles with something out of my line of sight, then looks straight at me, or rather, at the camera beaming his image to me. "The _Enterprise_ is returning to Earth for a couple weeks. There's a conclave of captains, and some other functions at the Academy. There's also an alumni ball – a bunch of officers are being honored."

He says it casually, but I guess that he's one of the honorees, though I don't confirm it. Not yet. Instead I say. "You need a date, and want me to fix you up with one of my friends." I make it a statement, as this is a recurring theme with us.

"Not exactly."

I lift my eyebrows. "Oh?"

"I need a date, but I'd like it to be you." There's something odd in his voice when he says it.

"You're kidding." But he's not. I know he's not. "Geordi…?"

"Kat, you've - we've known each other forever – I'm one of the people being honored." He lowers his voice even more. "I'd like you to be there."

For a moment, a long moment, I think about declining. But then I remember that I have this great red dress hanging in my closet that I haven't had a chance to wear. Also, it's been too long since we've seen each other in person, and I'd really like to be able to talk to him without counting minutes. "Okay," I say. And then, "Hey, is your dress uniform still red?"

The question rocks him. "Yes, why?"

"No reason," I tell him, using my best bet-you-wish-you-knew voice. "Text me the details and I'll clear my schedule – but you're paying for the hotel."

He laughs. "Fair enough," he says. And then, "You're not dating anyone who's likely to beat me up, are you?"

"Jared and I broke up about a month ago. He decided dating interns was more his style," I share. "What about you – why do you need me? Ensign Martinez not all you hoped?"

"She's…nice…" he hedges.

"But…?"

"But we didn't click. Not enough."

We chat for another ten minutes, he gives me the capsule version of his week, and I give the bullet points of mine, and then I get ready to sign off.

"Wait," he says.

"What is it?"

"The indictment?"

"No worries," I tell him. "It hasn't actually happened, and if it does, I have an excellent attorney."

"But if it does?"

"You'll be my second call, Geordi. I promise."

He watches me – or my image, rather – for a full minute before he says anything, as if he's trying to discern my pulse rate or whether or not I'm overheated, to determine if I'm telling the truth. (Actually, he probably _is_ doing just that.) "Alright, then," he says. "Talk to you next week."

"Same time, same station," I quip, and then the screen goes dark, and I'm left to contemplate the notion of going to a ball with my oldest friend, and wondering if it's wrong to hope that the red dress in my closet might actually get a reaction.


	2. Yellow

**Fandom:** Star Trek The Next Generation  
**Characters: **Geordi LaForge / OFC  
**Prompt:** #013 - Yellow  
**Word Count:** 1104  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary: **Kat arrives at the Academy ball and sees new colors. Chapter two of the Color Series:** _Color my World _. **This chapter takes place sometime before** _Home_, **but after the previous chapter,** _Red_.**

**Notes:** Written for the Livejournal FanFic 100. _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ and Geordi LaForge are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This was written for the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored. May continue to be Geordi/OFC (Kat) - may not. This is un-beta'd.

**YELLOW**

I'm sitting in my flitter in the parking bay at Starfleet Academy, nerves jittering like proverbial butterflies in my stomach. I keep thinking that I should have said no to being his date, or that, once accepted, I should have let him pick me up. I mean, my apartment's not that far away, and he has a freaking starship at his disposal.

Okay, that might be an exaggeration. But here's what's not: I've known Geordi LaForge since we were both ten, and I'm hiding in my flitter because I'm afraid of what my feelings for him really are. And I'm equally afraid of what they aren't. I mean, what if he really does want to take our relationship into adult realms…and what if he doesn't. And there's still the whole traipsing around the galaxy thing. As long as we're just friends, I'll never have to deal with the agony of worrying when the _Enterprise_ is out of communication, never have to refuse to cover a story about the ship or her crew because I can't be objective, and… I bang my clenched fists against the controls, and mutter out loud, "Dammit, Kat, just go IN there."

"Please restate your desired coordinates," the navigation system requests in too-calm tones, the way computers do. I press the button to power down with a little more gusto than is really called for. And I take a deep breath. Then, I smooth my hair and exit the flitter.

I've been told where to meet him, of course, and I've been here before – years ago for his graduation, when I sat next to his sister and we rated the relative hotness of the male humanoids in his class to kill time. Ariana has a wicked sense of humor, while her brother is a little kinder in his witticisms. And then, when there were rumors of a conspiracy in Starfleet, I was one of the reporters sent to cover it. So I know where the arrivals lounge is, and I'm not weirded out by the full-body scan to determine if I'm packing weapons (though in this dress, I'm not sure where I'd put them. My purse holds a lipstick and my identification, not much else).

A cadet stuck on door duty recognizes me, and welcomes me by name, and I thank her, as I walk into the building. Lots of glass and steel and combinations of the two, just enough stone to ground the place. They've decorated for the occasion by hanging festive banners, and bringing out flowers in Starfleet colors. I've seen worse. I walk the short distance down the main corridor to the arrivals lounge, and enter, and the noise of so many conversations is a bit jarring after the heel-clicking silence of the corridor, but I just take another deep breath and look around.

I recognize a few faces. Captain Picard, of course, because he's been interviewed a lot. Never seems to age, which is criminal. He's talking to a petite blonde in admiral's stripes. I think she's got a Russian name, but don't bother racking my brains for the knowledge. Davis T'laren, a reporter from a rival news syndicate is talking to a bearded officer in red, but notices me, and waggles his eyebrows – apparently the dress is effective – but I just smirk. Then I turn, and I freeze.

Geordi's off in a corner, engaged in animate conversation with a man who isn't merely dressed in the mustard-yellow ops color, but actually echoes it with his skin. This, I think, must be the infamous Data, who's supplanted me as LaForge's best friend. I'd seen his image before, of course, but it's nothing compared to the actual person. And Geordi…Geordi's also in yellow, and…is that another stripe? I can't decide if I should yell at him for not telling me or merely be glad that someone's seen how talented he his.

My name, being shouted (in as polite a manner as possible) breaks me from this line of thinking. "Geordi!" I answer back, and weave through the crowd, exchanging only brief greetings with people I know on the way. "Sorry I'm late," I say.

He's staring at me, at my dress. He's…riveted, even. "You look amazing," he says. "Worth the wait." For a moment, something heavy hangs between us, as he watches me and I stare into his VISOR. Then he bends to kiss me on the cheek, and whispers, "I'm glad you came, Kat," and it's such a familiar gesture that all is well again.

"Yellow?" I ask softly.

He actually blushes. Well, sort of. "Yeah," he says. "I meant to tell you, but there wasn't time. I was promoted." His expression is a mixture of shyness and pride. "I'm chief engineer," he tells me.

I want to whoop or shout or dance, but I resist the urge, and simply hug him. It's a little more enthusiastic than our hugs generally are, and it lasts a little longer, and I tell him softly, "Congratulations. I'm so beyond proud of you."

"Ahem." A voice behind me makes an extremely artificial coughing sound, and I pull away from my friend, smooth my skirt, and turn to find it's source.

Mustering all of my professionalism, I extend my hand, and say, "Commander Data, I presume? Geordi's told me a lot about you. It's good to finally meet you." I add, in case he's unsure. "I'm Kathryn Rossi, from FNN. Call me Kat – all my friends do."

"And I am just Data," he answers, and I wonder if he, too, can feel the worry-waves emanating from Geordi, who has to be hoping we'll like each other, at least a little. "Geordi speaks of you often, Kat." He gives me an appraising look, as if he's trying to decide how a polite android can say, 'If you hurt my friend, I'll kill you.' And then that also passes, just as a steward (another duty cadet, of course) is circulating a tray of champagne.

Geordi hands me a glass, keeps one for himself, and nods at Data, who's taken one as well. The three of us form a private circle, and Geordi lifts his glass, and toasts, "To friendship."

I raise my glass, too, but I don't speak, because I'm busy noticing that Geordi looks good in yellow. Really good. He catches me staring and catches my hand, squeezing slightly and letting it go, and then I want to say something, but we're called into dinner before I can.

Here's hoping Starfleet parties aren't as excruciatingly speech-heavy as news net shindigs, because some things are better conveyed on the dance floor.


	3. Orange

**Fandom:** Star Trek The Next Generation  
**Characters:** Geordi LaForge / OFC  
**Prompt:** #012 - Orange  
**Word Count:** 1009  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary: **After the ball, two people take a walk on a bridge. Chapter three of the Color Series: _**Color my World**_ . This chapter takes place sometime before _**Home**_, but after the previous chapter, _**Yellow**_.  
**Notes: **Written for the Livejournal FanFic 100. Star Trek: The Next Generation and Geordi LaForge are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This was written for the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored. May continue to be Geordi/OFC (Kat) - may not. This is un-beta'd.

**Orange**

It is a somewhat disappointing fact that San Francisco's Golden Gate Bridge is actually orange. Specifically, the color is "international orange." I know this because one of my first local news reports for FNN was for the annual repainting of the bridge. I remember standing at the base of one of the towers with the wind whipping my hair. Tonight, though, I am not expounding upon the color, or complaining about the wind.

"I've always wanted to do this – walk across the bridge at night," Geordi tells me, as we buzz through the pedestrian walkway and begin walking toward Marin. "We talked about it all the time at the Academy, but we never managed to do it."

The subject had some up during the ball. It was one of the lulls while the band – a live band – took a break, and the _Enterprise_ officers had been reminiscing about their Academy days. The reporter part of my brain observed that, for all they may be galactic heroes now, these officers had fairly typical college experiences. Good to know they're mortal, I guess. But now I was trying not to shiver – my red dress got the expected, even hoped for, reaction from my companion, but strapless ball gowns don't keep away the chill – as I answer, "It's easy to put things off, take them for granted, when you see them all the time. I mean, I live in this city, but I hardly ever play tourist."

My attempt at keeping the shiver out of my voice must have failed, because Geordi stops walking and stares at me. Well, not stares. But I can tell he's not seeing my dress right now, but something else. "You're cold," he states.

"I didn't bring a jacket," I explain. "It's warm in the flitter, and I knew we'd be dancing." I pause then add, a little shyly. "I enjoyed dancing with you. I liked meeting your friends."

He doesn't answer right away because he's unfastening the jacket of his dress uniform and shrugging it off. "Wear this, Kat," he says, and helps me into it, holding it so I can slide my arms into the sleeves. "Better." It's not a question. I know he's seen heat patterns on my skin, or some such.

"Thank you," I say. We continue our walk toward the middle of the bridge, side by side, our hands brushing, almost connecting then moving apart. I can feel the slight upward slope of the arch, as we pass the first tower, and the wind is stronger.

He stops at a point equidistant between the two towers. I wonder if the Visor let him measure the distance, but I don't ask. "We're here," he says.

"So we are," I say, and then I add, "Moon's out."

"What does it look like to you?" he asks quietly.

I look at him, startled by the question. "Moonlight? Or Moonlight on the water?"

"Either. Both."

"Mmm." I am quiet, composing my description, and the nearness of him is distracting. I can feel his warmth. "Most people describe moonlight in cool colors. Silver and white," I begin. "But to me it's always felt like soft warmth. Not silver, but the finest, palest gold, spun out like floss. And when it strikes the water, there's almost – almost – a sheen to the waves, but it's so dark that they're really just shapes. Indistinct." I stop there. And then I say: "Tell me what it looks like to you."

And he does. "It's more like textures and temperatures," he says. "Solids are dense, and deep, the ocean has movement, but it's warmer, not a lot, but a hint, where the light strikes it, and the intensity lessens. Moonlight is thin. Sunlight…sunlight's all heat. Moonlight's an echo of that heat." He pauses, and in that pause I slip my hand into his. His fingers lace themselves with mine, as he laughs softly, and apologizes, "It loses a lot in translation."

"Try something different," I say. "Tell me how it tastes." It's a game we played as kids. Using a sense we both had to better communicate different ways of seeing.

"Kat!" He laughs, but his hand stays twined with mine. "You first."

I close my eyes, breathe in. "Salty, wet, something sweet, just a hint of sweetness. A dash of something floral, but it comes and goes so fast." I open my eyes, and find his gaze directed at me again. "Your turn."

He doesn't speak. He ducks his head, and hesitates, and I look out at the dark expanse of ocean, black and alive, and faintly lit when the moon strikes the waves. I speak his name, and his head comes up, and while I can't read an expression, I can tell that he's come to a decision. His other hand comes up to caress my face, and I lean into it, into his warmth, and the strength of his fingers. He does speak, then, just one word, "Kat…" and I squeeze his hand.

"Yes," I say.

It seems to be the permission he needs, for he bends his head just a little, and his lips find mine. We've kissed before, but it's been casual. This kiss holds meaning, and goes deeper. I lean into it, kissing him back, and then our tongues are dancing, much as our bodies had in the ballroom, earlier.

The need to breathe separates us, and I step into his arms. We stand there in the wind, on the orange-painted bridge, bathed in moonlight for a long moment. When the silence is broken, it's Geordi who speaks. "I'm on leave for the next three days."

"I'm sort of…suspended…" I admit. "Which means I'm free."

There's an unspoken agreement that he's coming home with me tonight. And I'm fine with that. Mostly. He kisses me again, and breathes my name against my neck.

I laugh softly. "Geordi," I say. "Let's go someplace warmer."

I don't remember the walk back to my flitter. I don't remember the ride home. "Thank God for autopilot" becomes my new mantra.


	4. Green

**Fandom:**_Star Trek The Next Generation_  
**Characters:** Geordi LaForge / OFC  
**Prompt:** #014 – Green  
**Word Count: ****884**  
**Rating:** K+  
**LDT Link: ** **Summary**: Sometimes the worst nightmares are the ones you see someone else having.  
**Notes: **Written for the Livejournal FanFic 100. Star Trek: The Next Generation and Geordi LaForge are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This was written for the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored. May continue to be Geordi/OFC (Kat) - may not. This is un-beta'd.

* * *

**GREEN**

I'm not sure if I am already awake because my bladder is insisting I empty it, or if it's the erratic, half-mumbled speech tumbling from Geordi's mouth, but either way I sit up in bed, and stare into the pixilated darkness of my bedroom. I squint more out of habit than need and the soft green light across the room resolves itself into a time display. Two am. Oh-two hundred. Whatever. Either way it's late, and he's dreaming.

At a loss – do I let his dream play out, or do I wake him? – I ease myself from the bed. Practicality kicks in: first, empty bladder, then deal with boyfriend's nightmare. My mind races in circles, talking to itself. Myself. _Boyfriend? Is that what he is? I mean, I've known him since we were ten, but this is only the second time we've slept together_. I don't close the bathroom door, choosing to keep an ear out, in case something changes. From this perspective I can't see the clock, but I see another pair of twin green lights just above the foot of the bed. Perry, my Chihuahua, named after the fictional editor of a fictional newspaper from a twentieth-century comic book, is also awake. Typically, he's staring at me, and won't leave his spot on the bed unless there's the prospect of food or a walk. Can't say as I blame him.

I finish attending to nature's demands, and wash my hands with cool water, splashing my face as well. My apartment has a sonic shower, which is great on mornings when there isn't time for hair to dry, but water always feels cleaner somehow. The sinks are all water. I like it that way. I pause near the end of the bed and scratch Perry behind the ears. "Go back to sleep, little man," I tell him. He emits a doggie sigh and lowers his head back to his paws.

Blinking red diodes on Geordi's temples catch my attention. Normally, I don't notice them, either because I'm just used to them, or because I don't generally stare at him in the darkness. I look past him, to the nightstand on his side (it's already his side) of the bed, see the blinking green lights of the matching connections on the VISOR he takes off to sleep. Memory flashes, and I remember sleepovers of a different kind, when we would each be in a sleeping bag on my father's living room floor, or his father's, or in an old-style tent pitched in the back yard, when I would see those same blinking lights, the same gleaming metal reflecting them. I slide back under the covers, and realize he's still muttering.

"I can't see, I can't see," I can discern the words now, and I freeze, horrified. "Romulan, Human, what does it matter if we die down here. Work with me, man." The reporter part of my brain wonders if there is a story here, and then my conscience and heart remind me of who I am, who he is, who we are together, and I reach out, touch his shoulder, and shake him gently.

"Geordi," I say. "Geordi, wake up. You're dreaming." I keep my voice pitched soft, let warmth infuse it.

"You're bleeding," he says, and I rub two fingers together, and then realize he's still caught in his nightmare's web. "Or I am. Can't tell. Even if I could see, couldn't tell. Blood's blood with this thing. Doesn't matter if it's red or green."

I gasp at that, shake him a little harder. "Geordi, wake up, please?" The stress invades my tone; his words seem creepy to me in the dark. I could turn a light on, but I don't. "Geordi, its Kat…"

Hearing my name seems to help, because he sits up, and rubs his eyes, then puts his hands to his temples, and massages them. "Kat?"

"Right here," I say, and I move so I'm sitting right against him. I raise my knees to my chest, wrap my arms around them. He's sitting cross-legged now, fully awake. "You were dreaming," I say. "Something about red and green blood and not being able to see." I lift one arm, and stroke his face softly with fingers that are still damp. "If you want to talk about it, I'll listen."

I hear the sound of metal clunking against the nightstand. He's reached for his VISOR, but it's taken two attempts to pick it up. I see the ghostly outline of his hands as he raises it to his face, and hear the soft click as it settles into position. Only now does he turn to me. "I was dreaming."

I laugh softly, stroke his back, and feel the warmth of his skin beneath the green t-shirt he wore to bed. "Yes," I confirm. "You were."

"It was last year," he begins. "We were on a planet with violent ion storms…"

He settles his arm around me, and we sit together in the middle of the bed, with Perry the Chihuahua sleeping at our feet, and I listen to his soft voice as he spins the tale. It's an hour before we go back to sleep, and even then I keep waking up, looking up, and finding comfort in the soft green glow of the clock.


	5. Blue

**Fandom:** Star Trek The Next Generation  
**Characters: **Geordi LaForge / OFC  
**Prompt:** #015 - Blue  
**Word Count:** 682  
**Rating:** PG

* * *

It's a sunny morning, and we're sitting in my breakfast nook, each of us with a cobalt blue mug of coffee. His is black, mine liberally laced with milk and sugar. "Milk, not cream?" he asked, as he was bringing the mugs to the table. "You loved cream as a kid."

"Whipped cream, yes," I corrected. "Blue whipped cream, the way my dads did it at their restaurant, remember?"'

He grins, and I can tell he's caught the same memory trail that I have, and that we're both thinking of the first time I brought him home, introduced him to my father and his partner, showed him what it was like to step from the vault-sized cold-storage unit to the hot sun outside and watch the condensation steaming off your skin in the sunlight.

"You were nervous about me meeting your father," he says, and I shake my head.

"No," I say. "I was nervous about you meeting _Kevin_. I mean, he and my father have been together forever, but Mars Colony was pretty conservative, and some people get freaky. Besides, you were a fleet brat."

"So were you," he points out, waggling a spoon at me.

I stick out my tongue at him, because I'm oh-so-mature. He doesn't expect it, and it makes him laugh. I love his laugh. I love the way it makes his face glow. I love the way his fingers flex when he's happy. I love…. "My mother was on a science scout ship. It's different. They're way more relaxed than you big starship types." I'm teasing him now, to deflect my own feelings. "Y'all are stuffy."

"Stuffy?" he puts so much feeling into one word: amusement, irritation, disbelief. "Stuffy? I'll give you stuffy." And before I know it he's found the canister of whipped cream I keep in the stasis unit for ice cream emergencies, and he's aiming it at me.

"Don't you dare!" I abandon my mug on the table and get up to try and grab the container before he can press the button that will spew blue cream everywhere.

But he's hit the trigger, and because I grabbed his wrist we're both covered in the stuff.

* * *

An hour later, we're both dressed in fresh clothes, sitting on the sofa and watching the FNN headline news. Border skirmishes along the Neutral Zone, political races on four worlds on the outer rim, and a proposed ban on press presence at the next Congressional Assembly are the topics of the morning.

"Does it bother you?" he asks, referring to the broadcast. "You're suspended - but you don't seem upset."

"I haven't really had time to wrap my head around it," I confess. "Been sort of absorbed by other matters. It'll hit me about an hour after your ship breaks orbit and I'm forced to return to the real world."

He covers my hand with his, and I feel the tension in his grip. "This is the real world, Kat," he says. "You and me…" he trails off, and I turn my hand beneath his, and twine our fingers together.

"I know," I say, my voice low. "It's real. We're real. And I'm - can we not talk it to death just yet? Can we just enjoy it for a little longer?"

He gives me the sort of look that would be truly devastating without the visor masking his expression, but is still pretty pointed even with it, and even though he hasn't moved, doesn't move, I feel him withdraw a little.

I move closer. "I'm sorry," I say. "You've been my best friend forever. My brain hasn't caught up with my heart yet, is all."

He leans forward, silently, and I can tell he's about to kiss me, but I see a flash of pale blue near his ear, and I move my head past his, dart out my tongue, capture the errant cream.

"Problem?" he asks, amusement and affection tied together in the word.

"Nope," I say. "Just missed a spot, when you were cleaning up." My voice sounds smug, even to me. It should. I'm the Kat who got the cream.


	6. Indigo

**Indigo**

I stare at the night sky, white stars suspended against an indigo background. Geordi has just informed me that people who've never been on starship bridges - like me - think this is what they see on the main view screen, as if they're all looking out a giant window.

"It's not?" I ask.

"No. It's all reversed. Space is white and planets and stars are dark masses. Like a map on paper."

"Can you change the view - see what is really there?" The idea of a map intrigues me a little, but seems cold and sterile, too. Space travel has become so commonplace. We take off for Centauri or Vulcan and treat it as if we're walking down to the corner store for milk. As a reporter, I've done my share of travel, as a writer, I've always fought against the blasé tone we all take. I shake my head, clearing those thoughts. I'm not a reporter any more, at least for now. I turn my attention back to my…friend. Lover. Geordi. I watch the lights glint on the metal of his visor, listen to the warmth of his voice…

"Oh, we do, if we're in orbit around a planet, especially if it's a familiar place, or home for any of the crew. Right now, for example, there's no question that the view-screen on the bridge is showing a real-time view of Earth."

I'm leaning on the cold metal rail of the balcony, and he is behind me, his arms reaching around to brace there, too. I feel the heat of his body, look down at his hands - I love his hands - and notice that he's back in uniform. "The Earth from space has been a compelling image since the late twentieth century," I note. "Art, science and wonder, all tied up in a neat package." I hesitate then add, "Your leave is over." It's not a question.

"Yeah," he says, and the word is like a sigh, but rougher. "Kat…"

I hear in his voice all the things he doesn't have words for yet. I want to turn around, but I don't. Instead, I move my hand to cover his on the railing. "You know, I've done my share of leaving, after an assignment. It's kind of new being the one left."

"I'm not leaving you. Not that way…"

"I know," I say. "You're not. And yet you are." We've been friends forever, so we don't have the luxury of the polite lie to cushion such things. No breezy goodbyes followed by instant forgetfulness. "Call me, when you can."

"You know I will." He pauses, and I hear him swallow hard. "You could visit the ship, you know. Next time we're at a starbase."

I open my mouth to protest, and then realize that since I'm 'suspended indefinitely' from work, I actually _can _take time for such a trip. My lips curl into a smile he can't see, "I'd like that," I say. What I really mean is _I love you_, but I don't have the words yet, either.


	7. Violet

**_Star Trek: The Next Generation and Geordi LaForge are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This story was originally part of the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored. This chapter replaces the original chapter seven, because I've decided to change directions just a bit._**

* * *

**Violet**

The new vice-president of FNN has violet skin and platinum hair, and I can't remember which world she's from, or where I've seen her before, but it doesn't really matter. "Ms. Rossi," she says, and her voice has the tone that says she is only talking to me because someone told her to, "I do hope you and I can become friends. I'd like to apologize for your suspension, and invite you to return to work at the beginning of the month."

"And the source I refused to name?" I ask.

"No longer an issue," she says. "Officially, the network still maintains that you should have given up the name when asked, but your suspension was public, and frankly, we need you back at work, in the field, and on camera."

There's a catch, I know, but I can't find it just yet. "I still won't reveal my source," I say.

"Nor do I wish you to," she agrees. "Think about it. Talk to your partner. Get back to me tomorrow."

"Sure," I breeze. "Tomorrow." As I leave her office, though, I'm perplexed. Partner? I don't have a partner. And then I remember where I've seen her before, and I know that my next contact with Geordi can't wait two days til our regular com-date.

"_Enterprise _here, this is Lt. Commander Data." The android's pale gold features fill my vid screen. "Kat, it is the middle of our night watch. Are you alright?"

I'm caught off-guard by the question. "I'm honestly not sure, Data," I tell him. "Look, I'm sorry for the lateness of the hour, but it's important that I speak to Geordi as soon as possible. If he's not on duty, you don't have to wake him, but…"

My lover's best friend interrupts me. "Forgive me, Kat, but I do not believe you would call at this hour 'just to chat.' I will wake Geordi and route your signal to his quarters."

"You're a really good friend to him, aren't you?" It's more an observation than a question, but Data responds anyway.

"Geordi is a 'really good friend' to me, Kat." I can see his fingers moving out of frame while he talks, though his eyes are directed toward the screen. "As I try to be. I can transfer you n - "

"Data, wait!" I cut him off. "The next time the _Enterprise _is back at Earth, would you join Geordi and me for dinner? I think it would be a good idea for you and I to get to know each other better."

For the merest fraction of a second, he seems surprised at my invitation. "Thank you, Kat. I would like that. Transferring now."

The image on my screen wavers and then instead of Data's face in the frame, it's Geordi, who is likely bleary-eyed behind his VISOR. "Kat, it's the middle of the night. Are you okay?"

"No. Yes. I don't…I'm sorry to bother you, and I know it's your night watch. You sent me the schedule, remember? I just…at that banquet…at the Academy…do you remember a woman with purple skin and platinum hair?"

"Purple?"

"Violet, actually, but…yeah."

He lowers his head for a moment, in a thinking pose. "Yeaaaah," he says slowly. "I think I do. She was with another reporter. Why?"

"She's my new boss," I tell him. "And she wants to end my suspension beginning the first of the month, no questions, no penalties."

"That's great, Kat…but…this couldn't have waited two days?"

"Geordi…"

"What am I missing?"

"She wanted me to ask my partner. I think…I think they're only ending my suspension because they think I have a connection with you…and through you…"

"…with the _Enterprise_, and with Starfleet," Geordi finishes the thought. "Is that so bad?"

"Is what so bad?"

"Being publically connected with me?"

"Of course not, Geordi. You know I love you. It's just that…" I stop talking, because he's riveted to the screen, and if his eyes could see, I swear they'd be burning through the VISOR. But the words are there now. Out in the open. And there's no going back. "I love you," I repeat in a softer tone. "But this feels like I'm using you, somehow."

"You're not using me," he says. There's a beat and then he suggests, "Look, if this is a ploy for FNN to get someone inside Starfleet, I'd rather it be you than someone we can't trust. And if it's something else, well, you can do more good working inside their system with all their resources at your fingertips, right?"

"For a guy who was just woken up in the middle of the night, you think pretty fast," I tease. "And yes, of course you're right."

"All part of the service, ma'am," he says, and flashes me his trademark saucy grin.

"Any idea when you'll be in the neighborhood again?" I ask, even though I know I should send him back to bed.

"Not soon enough," he says, and it could be a joke, except he says it softly, and there's a wistful note in his voice.

"You should go back to sleep, Geordi," I tell him. "We'll have our real talk in a couple of days?"

"Count on it," he says. He pauses, then, and grins, "I love you, too, Kat…meant to tell you sooner, but didn't want to spook you."

"I know," I tell him. And because we've known each other forever, he knows that I mean both _I knew you loved me_, and _I knew why you didn't want to tell me. _"Sweet dreams, Geordi," I add, and then I kill the signal.

I stare at the blank screen for several minutes. Finally, Perry, the Chihuahua named for a journalist from a twentieth century comic book character - a journalist - despite her gender, jumps up to put her head on my leg, reminding me that my whole reason for being is not, in fact, hurtling through the vastness of space, but is right here in my apartment, as well.

"Perry-dog," I say, scratching behind her ears. "Let's go to the beach!"

The dog makes happy circles all the way to the door, and I resolve not to worry about any ulterior motives. At least…not for today.


	8. Gray

_**Star Trek: The Next Generation and Geordi LaForge are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This story was originally part of the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored.**_

* * *

**GRAY**

My boss, whose name I've learned in the three months that I've been back at work, is staring at me while I process what she's just asked me to do. "Let me go over this one more time," I say. "You want to assign me to the _Enterprise_ to do fluff pieces?"

"Kat, the captain of that ship was captured by the Borg and subsequently released - "

"Rescued," I correct. "Captain Picard was _rescued_, Nethra. It's not like the Borg sent him home as an act of cyber-zombie good will."

"Rescued, then," she continues as if it's what she meant all along. "During the next year, he led a fleet attack against the Klingons - our allies, I might remind you - and went on a mission to Romulus. Even Starfleet Command is distancing itself from _Enterprise, _and your relationship with the engineer makes you the best choice."

"Chief. Engineer." I said the words through clenched teeth, then forced myself to relax. "So what you really want is someone to dig up the dirt on Picard and his crew while making it _look_ like a series of civil interest stories." It wasn't a question. Nethra and I understood each other perfectly well. "Have you considered the possibility that he isn't dirty? That there's something nefarious going on at Command?"

She grinned at me, but it didn't reach her eyes. "And that's why we need you for this story, Kat. Only you would even _think_ to question the integrity of Starfleet itself." She paused a moment, then issued the ultimatum I'd been expecting since I'd returned to my job: "Either you do this, or we'll resurrect the charges of withholding information. The only reason you weren't indicted for concealing your source is that we stepped in."

I wasn't sure there was any way to reply to that without making things worse, but a three-month-old conversation with Geordi flashed through my mind at that point. _"__If this is a ploy for FNN to get someone inside Starfleet,"_ he'd said, _"I'd rather it be you than someone we can't trust."_

"I'd like to choose my own video team," I said. "I want to make sure I have people who know the difference between good investigation and disrespect."

"We'll allow that," Nethra agreed, perhaps a little too easily. Then she added, "_Enterprise _makes orbit in three days. I want you ready to go in five."

I agreed to her schedule, but as I left her office, I had to wonder: how did she know about the ship's itinerary before I did.

"Kat, you won't believe my news," Geordi enthused during our chat that night. His grin, on my com-screen, was brighter than a hundred suns.

"Let me guess…y'all are on your way home, and will be making orbit in a little less than three days?" I smiled back, feeling a little mischievous.

"You knew?" he deflated a little, but he also seemed a little bit wary. "Kat, our orders aren't public knowledge yet. If you know we're back, there may be a problem."

I sucked in a breath. "We'll have to discuss it when you get here," I said, as neutrally as I could. "Among other things. Should I meet you, or will you come here on your own."

"I'll come to you," he said, then hesitated. "Data says I should ask if he can bring anything to dinner?"

I had to laugh at that. "I'd forgotten! Remember a while ago, I woke you in the middle of the night…" And so I told him about reaching out to his _other_ best friend. The one he wasn't sleeping with. "Anyway," I finished. "Figure out the details between the two of you - I can be flexible."

"Sure thing, Kat," he said. And then his tone changed into something softer, less breezy. "And Kat…?"

"I know," I said. "Love you, too."

The screen went dark, and I found myself looking at my own reflection in it. We'd been using the 'L-word' for months now, but not yet in person. I wondered if it would change things. I wondered if I'd feel stifled on his ship. Mostly, though, I wondered how Nethra had known about secret orders, and what was really going on.

"Computer," I said, waking the screen from its electronic nap. "Do a search, please. Background check on Nethra K'krelyn."

_Working._

I let the machine do its thing. Watching a pot may not actually prevent it from boiling, but watching a computer blink its cursor at you was not the best use of my time, no matter how curious I was. Besides, if I was going to be leaving on the _Enterprise _ in a few days, I needed to figure out what to pack. It was, therefore, another hour before I checked back at the screen.

_No data file on specified individual. _

Now, I was worried. Really worried.


	9. White

_**Star Trek: The Next Generation**__**, Geordi LaForge, Lt. Commander Data, and the U.S.S. **_**Enterprise**_** are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This was written for the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored. **_

* * *

**WHITE**

A gentle snow was falling outside my father's second - third? - home in Georgetown, Colorado. I remember when he bought the place I was convinced he was descending into premature dementia. His partner, Kevin, had also been concerned for Dad's sanity. After all, the two of them already owned a cliff-side condo in Mars Colony and a beach house on the resort planet Risa. Dad had explained that he'd fallen in love with the tiny mountain town when he'd been in Aspen years before for some kind of food and wine festival, and wanted to be part of a typical, Terran community.

It was never uttered out loud, but I think my father had purchased the vintage pink Edwardian-style home on the hill above the elementary school, because he dreamed I'd eventually marry and have kids, and live there where he and Kevin could easily visit.

Well, the marriage and children hadn't happened yet, and Kevin tended to avoid the place because he was extremely susceptible to altitude sickness, but I'd adopted the Pink Palace (as I'd dubbed the old house) as my go-to getaway spot, so it made sense that when my boss at FNN had given me less than a week to uproot my cosmopolitan San Francisco life and relocate to Starfleet's flagship, I would have my boxed-up belongings sent here.

It also made sense that during the three-day period between the time the _Enterprise_ arrived back in Earth's orbit, and the time she was meant to leave again - this time with me aboard - I would invite my boyfriend - lover? (the first term feels silly once you're past thirty, and the second too casual somehow) - _Geordi_, and his friend Data to enjoy small-town life. Besides, I'd promised a couple of days of home-cooked meals, and while I knew at least one of them was expecting the Italian food my dads were famous for, there were things I knew how to do with venison that were simply life-altering.

The living room comm-system crackled to life, and I heard Data's perfect diction announce, "This is the shuttle _Hawking_ requesting permission to land. Please acknowledge."

I tabbed the mic to its 'on' position, and answered formally, "Permission granted, _Hawking._ There's a shuttle pad in the back yard. Mind the basketball hoop."

Data answered with something perfunctory, and I grabbed my jacket from the back of a chair, and went out back to meet them. Predictably, Geordi's first words to me weren't at all romantic. "Basketball hoop?" he asked, chuckling. "Tony put a basketball hoop on the shuttle pad?"

I shook my head at him. "Of course not," I said. "He simply allows people like yourselves to land on the basketball court." I let him pull me into a quick hug, then, though it threatened to become longer than a mere greeting. Feeling snow fall down the back of my open jacket, I pulled away. "Come inside," I said. "We can have proper hugs all around where it's warm and dry." I glanced over at Data, "You too, please. Don't want your circuits to ice over or anything." I was teasing him, but he seemed to understand that it was meant in a friendly way.

"That is unlikely," he said, "I am well insulated. However, I agree that relocating to a warmer, drier venue would be advisable."

I favored the pale, gold man with a grin, and turned around, "This way, boys," I said. "Don't forget to wipe your feet."

* * *

Hours later, we'd feasted on venison stew and freshly-baked cheddar-dill bread, and had taken up comfortable positions on the living room sofas, with a warm fire popping and snapping cheerfully in the Franklin stove. Geordi and I were sharing the full sized couch, while Perry the Chihuahua had taken a liking to Data, and graciously allowed him to provide a lap and absent-minded petting on the loveseat.

"Okay, Kat," Geordi said, his voice completely serious even though I was leaning against his chest. "Cozy mountain hideaway aside, you brought us here so we could discuss your new assignment in relative privacy. What's going on?"

"I'm not sure," I said. "But I'm pretty certain I was right, and sending me off on your ship isn't just because they're punishing me with a string of fluffy personal interest pieces about you lot. For one thing, I searched the news database and the FNN file morgue, and my boss, Nethra K'krelyn, doesn't seem to exist."

"So a deeper investigation into her identity is first on the list," Geordi said. "Data can look into that once we're back on the ship."

I glanced across the room at the android officer who confirmed, "Starfleet records may contain more information than news-net files," even as he maintained a rhythmic stroking of my dog's belly. "It is curious that she was able to arrange your travel documentation without raising any red flags about her own identity."

"It probably means she's better connected than someone in her position normally would be - or should be," I said. "No offense, but I'm really concerned that someone within Starfleet is calling the shots, and I'm uncomfortable with the idea of _any_ organization having that much control over the press."

"A free press is a crucial element of any open society," Data agreed. "You are right to be concerned."

"Am I right to trust you, though?" I asked, not looking at Geordi, because I literally couldn't, or at his friend. "I mean, I love you Geordi, and Data, the G-man here assures me that you're beyond reproach, but…"

"Kat," Geordi said, his voice filled with calm assurance. "I promise you that neither Data nor I is any more comfortable with the idea of Starfleet - or any other organization - pulling FNN's strings as if it were a puppet. Captain Picard has always had a good working relationship with the press - we all have - and as much as we're sometimes unhappy about what gets reported, we all know the truth is important." He paused, running his hands through my hair. "Let's leave off for the night, and tackle a better to-do list in the morning. It's our last leave for a while, and I haven't spent an evening snowed in by a crackling fire in years."

"We are hardly 'snowed in'," Data began, but Geordi must have given him a look, because he cut himself off. "However, I, too, am looking forward to a quiet evening." He paused a moment before asking, "May I use your comm-system? I am overdue for a regularly scheduled call."

"There's a more private extension in the study on the second floor," I said. "The codes are on a laminated sheet in the top right-hand desk drawer. Help yourself." I watched as he extricated himself from Perry's demanding attention and left the room, but waited til I heard him climb the stairs and shut the study door before asking softly, "So is he a digital Don Juan, or something, with a girl in every port?"

I could feel Geordi's quiet chuckle against my back. "No chance. But there is a woman he's close to. They've known each other for years, but their relationship has begun evolving lately."

I relaxed further against his chest, "Sounds familiar," I said.

"That it does," he agreed.

We spent the next several minutes in companionable silence, watching soft white snow fall outside the double paned glass window. Maybe there was a storm of another kind waiting once my assignment officially started, but at least I wouldn't be heading into it without backup, and for now, I was determined to enjoy the moment.

* * *

The next morning, the three of us made a to-do list for when we were all on the _Enterprise_, and then we bundled up in warm clothing, and walked on freshly-plowed streets down the hill to the main street of town for breakfast at one of the oldest restaurants to remain in continuous operation on Earth.

The Daily Pretzel, as it had always been known, had begun its life in the late nineteenth century, when Georgetown was a tiny speck on the Colorado map, just beginning its existence as the home of the Ajax silver mine's administrators, as well as a good many of the miners. Since then, the town had evolved into a close-knit resort community, and the Pretzel had gone through many incarnations - pub, bar, bistro, white tablecloth restaurant, etc. - until finally settling into the neighborhood diner it was today. The false front of the building (original) sported a light dusting of last night's snow, and the sidewalk was a slushy mess, but inside, the light was bright, and the conversation made a friendly buzz. I led Geordi and Data to my favorite table for people-watching, and we had a lovely meal before heading up the mountain and over the pass to the nearest ski area.

We spent the day playing in the snow - Geordi and I were both decent skiers and Data picked up the sport with relative ease - and laughing, though, our android companion was less than thrilled when we gave up the skis for a snowball fight.

We ate lunch at the ski lodge, then returned to the house so Geordi and I could change for dinner at another historic establishment. Data took his leave of us at that point, explaining that he had an 'appointment' with a 'friend' in San Francisco.

"You mean," I translated, "you have a hot date with the woman you called last night."

"Kat," Data said, with a slight head tilt that I'd come to realize meant _he _was teasing _me, _"I do not 'kiss and tell.' Thank you for your hospitality. I will contact you late tomorrow evening to arrange your transfer to the ship."

I managed to block the android's egress long enough to surprise him with a quick hug. "Thank you," I whispered. "For being such a good friend to both of us." I paused a second, then added, "And if you ever want to bring your woman-friend here, _mi casa es su casa_ - or anyway, my father's house is yours. Everyone loves these mountains."

"I will remember that," he said. He met Geordi's gaze. "Tomorrow evening," he repeated, and in a moment he and the shuttle were gone.

Geordi and I stood in the doorway until the shuttle was long out of view, and then we closed the door. "I should change," I said, "If we're still going out. If you'd rather stay here, there's leftover stew and probably lasagna or something in the freezer."

"A quiet night at home doesn't sound like a bad idea," Geordi said. The mood shifted, and we were suddenly standing in the kitchen, kissing like a couple of horny teenagers. "I noticed that the carpet in the living room was pretty soft," he observed.

"Mmm. Ever since dad bought this place," I murmered, "I've fantasized about making love in front of that wood stove. Care to make a girl's dream come true?"

We never did get around to dinner, but in the wee hours of the morning, we learned that venison stew makes a decent breakfast.

* * *

Our last day in the mountains was spent putting the house back in order, though we did slip out for a ride on the Georgetown Loop. It's a narrow-gauge railroad that winds its way from Georgetown to Silver Plume, the next town up the track, then turns around and reverses the journey. It was restored in the late twentieth century, and turned into a tourist attraction. Now, there are special heated rails that prevent the track from freezing over, and they serve wine and hot cider on the train during the winter, but it's still a popular vacation attraction, and the view from the top of the caboose is amazing.

Outside the heated cars, though, the temperature was dropping and another round of snow was about to start falling. By the time we'd returned to the Pink Palace and packed my belongings, Data was en route, and I was ready for a warmer, less slushy existence.

I knew the next day would bring reality crashing back, but after three days surrounded by pristine white snow, I was ready for something a bit darker and grittier.

* * *

_**Note:**__ For the travel-curious: Georgetown and Silver Plume are real towns, and the Daily Pretzel is a real pub/diner/restaurant, though I haven't actually been in it since I was a kid in 1977. The Georgetown Loop is a narrow gauge railroad that has been restored as a tourist attraction. I had the privilege of being one of the very first passengers when it re-opened in the 1970's (the kids of all the local merchants were invited to ride), and the top of the caboose remains my favorite seat. In summer, the train stops at the old Ajax mine, and visitors can tour the mine, then catch the next train to complete the trip. The Pink Palace, as Kat calls her dad's mountain home, is based on the historic Maxwell House (built in 1890). As kids, we were all convinced it was haunted, but now I know better. If you search for "Georgetown, Colorado Maxwell House" you can see pictures, but to my knowledge, there is no basketball court out back, and even if there was, rumors that it doubles as a shuttle pad are totally unfounded. _


	10. Black

_**Star Trek: The Next Generation**__**, Geordi LaForge, Lt. Commander Data, and the U.S.S. **_**Enterprise**_** are owned by Paramount. I'm just playing in their sandbox. This was written for the LiveJournal Fanfic 100 challenge. I chose a world I'm reasonably familiar with, and a character I've never explored. **_

* * *

**BLACK**

I wake to total blackness, a darkness that is deeper and denser than anything I ever experienced at home on Earth, even on the rare occasions that the power grid failed during an out-of-control storm. A week ago, I would have panicked about this, but seven nights - days - whatever - on the _Enterprise_ has made me more comfortable with the lack of light that happens in space.

I lie there for a moment, just listening. I hear my own breath, my own pulse in my ears (okay, maybe I'm not entirely comfortable with the waking to total dark thing), and beyond my own body the breath-sounds of the two loves of my life, one human, who snores softly, and one canine, who does not. Not for the first time, I wonder if this is what Geordi experiences whenever he removes his VISOR

I close my eyes, re-open them, turn my head toward the man I've known since childhood, in one respect or another, and see the soft pulsing glow of one of the VISOR contacts on his temple, but the light barely illuminates the millimeter of skin on either side. "Computer," I call softly into the room. "Lights - false dawn." It's one of the commands Geordi and Data helped me customize for my quarters, since percentages of illumination confused me. Math, in any form, was never my subject, which drives my fathers - both chefs - mad.

A subtle wash of gray light pushes the blackness off the end of the bed. It's not enough to wake the dog, but enough for me to see my hand in front of my face if I lift it, and it's oddly reassuring. "Computer, display current ship's time." I call into the room, and a panel off to the right of my bed lights up with green numbers.

The light may not affect Geordi, but my voice has. "What time is it?" he mumbles sleepily.

"Five-thirty," I tell him. "You have half an hour. Go back to sleep."

But, like me, he's awake now. Mostly. "You know, Kat," he observes with amusement warming his sleep-scratchy voice. "It's pretty funny that even out here, where there's nothing to give you a cue about the time, you _still_ wake up half an hour before the alarm every morning."

"I'm glad one of us can laugh at it," I huff, but there's no real irritation, and we both know it. "I couldn't sleep," I confess. "It's too quiet."

"It isn't, really," he says. "Listen carefully."

I do, and I list for him the sounds I'd already catalogued. He insists he doesn't snore, I insist he does, but then his hand reaches unerringly to cover my mouth and he urges me to listen. After a bit, I hear it, and I push his hand away from my mouth so I can speak, though I tangle my fingers with his. "Thrumming," I say. "A deep, soft, almost solid thrumming."

"That's the ship," he says softly. "Once you learn to hear it, you'll never feel like it's too quiet, but you will notice if it's absent."

"And if it is?" I ask.

"Worry," he says, only half-kidding. He squeezes my hand in the dark. "But that won't happen." He falls silent, and I can feel the mood shift around us. Other mornings, we might have both gone back to sleep, or used the half hour before the alarm for sex - the newest facet of our relationship - but today, he senses that there's more on my mind. "What is it?" he asks.

"Geordi," I begin. "I need a favor."

"I'm not going to help you cheat Data and Worf out of poker winnings," he says.

I roll my eyes at that, knowing he can't see the gesture. "I would never cheat," I say. "Not here."

"So," he says, "you need a favor…?"

"It's been nice," I say, "spending time with you, getting to know your friends better, but I'm here to do a job, and I need to get started. Your friends - the captain - might be more willing to do on-camera interviews if you do one first."

"You want to use me to get to them?"

"No!" I protest. There's a beat, and then I say, my tone sheepish. "Well…yes. Will you?"

He thinks about it for a minute. I know this because he's not snoring again. "Yeah," he says. "Okay. I'll do it for you, Kat, but there are two conditions."

"Okay…?"

"First, it's you and one of your camera crew. I don't want a horde of people in my engine room."

"I can handle that." I say. "What's the other condition?"

"Talk to Doctor Crusher about this sleep disorder? Losing half an hour every morning is killing me."

I have to laugh at that, but I know that he's really bringing it up out of concern more than annoyance. "Okay," I say. "Agreed."

"Computer," he calls into the near-darkness of my bedroom. "Reset wake-up call for zero-nine-hundred hours. Inform alpha shift engineering staff and Commander Data that I am taking personal time this morning."

"Personal time?" I ask.

He chuckles. "If I'm gonna be on camera, I need my beauty sleep."

"I like this plan." I rearrange myself in the bed so I'm nestled against his chest, and a new sound joins the array…his heartbeat. "Computer," I call, "lights out."

Utter blackness replaces the subtle gray, but now it doesn't bother me, because now, instead of seeing blackness as the vastness of space, separating me from this man, I see new possibilities. Sure, I'm here to put public faces on the crew of Starfleet's flagship. Yes, there's also the concern of the arms deal that got me suspended in the first place, and the mystery of my violet-hued boss, but for right now, none of that matters.

I close my eyes, and listen to Geordi's heartbeat, to my dog breathing softly at the end of the bed, to the thrumming of the great ship…and eventually, I sleep.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **I don't typically do notes, but I felt it was worth it to thank the people that have read this. I'm sorry it's been an eternity since the last update. The good news is that this marks the END of COLOR MY WORLD, but there will be more about Geordi and Kat. _


End file.
